


In This We Are The Same

by AngstMom



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:32:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstMom/pseuds/AngstMom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To hold his hand is to feel safe at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In This We Are The Same

Dipper remembered the first time Bill held his hand. A cold blue flame, an echoing laugh, a sinking feeling. When the embrace lingered he didn't feel like he was tricked. Despite the cold flame, the demon's hand was warm, and if they had truly been in the waking world, Dipper thought that it might have felt soft.

After the whole fiasco and Bill's ultimate defeat, Dipper only thought about the handshake in negative light.

The next time they held hands, Dipper was the one fooling Bill. A false deal, a sordid loophole, in Bill’s opinion. Bill didn’t handle defeat easily, and held on as tightly as possible, using Dipper as an anchor to the corporeal world. In those moments, Dipper could feel the ice cold fear flowing in waves from the dream demon. In the eye of the storm, literally more than figuratively, Dipper almost thought the look on Bill’s surface was semblance of a human emotion. The demon’s grip unyielding, pleading with Dipper.

Whether it was pity, or manipulation, Dipper gripped back. His hold on reality slipped away, and he fell into a world of utter chaos, still gripping the hand of his sworn enemy.

When he finally came to, his hand was still in an almost painful grip. The air around the two of them was like white noise, loud and unnerving. Dread flooded Dipper’s chest, his only source of ground being the hand still in his own.

With a tug, and an incredulous look, Bill lead him away from the nightmare realm. The mindscape, once on the other side, is filled with more color than any human mind could ever possibly perceive. It wasn’t quite a prison, but it wasn’t freedom, and Dipper found that both he and Bill were in the same boat, almost.

The third time they held hands, Bill was smashed, upset, and showing so much emotion Dipper thought he might implode. The demon sniffled like a human, coughed like a drunken teen, whined like a petulant child, and held onto Dipper’s hand as if the boy could save him from himself. Dipper wanted to ask how Bill managed to get drunk when he had no mouth and no visible way to get any alcohol, but he held his tongue. When Bill finally came out of his self induced, miserable stupor, he was still holding onto Dipper’s hand. His unnatural warmth within this crumbling scape was the only thing keeping the boy from letting go. Bill let him soak it in, choosing silence over explaining himself.

The fourth time they held hands, Dipper was the one crying miserably. Almost an entire year passed, and he was fourteen, and alone, without his sister and best friend. For the first time in almost a year, Bill gave Dipper a dream. A scenario in which he and his twin had never faced Bill, one where they happily hunted the supernatural together, went to school together, had their fourteenth birthday together. Dipper would tell anyone that hugging a triangle is one of the strangest experiences. Bill would tell you that flesh has no true purpose other than protecting your delicate organs from the inevitable invasion of disease and infection. However, he would also mumble how nice and pliant it feels.

The fifth time they hold hands, Bill isn’t a triangle. Dipper would exclaim that the triangular jerk only changed his appearance to mock him. Bill would claim that he did it to give Dipper more ‘human’ company. Regardless, Bill held onto Dipper’s hand for almost an entire day, babbling on about the last time he made a human body instead of just inhabiting some poor fool’s body. He got a swift smack for that comment.

The sixth time they hold hands, another rift in time space has been made. Dipper is pulled through the rift, dragging Bill along in quick succession. They both land in a heap on the floor, Dipper being held by Grunkle Stan, still gripping onto Bill’s hand, eyes wide, body shaking. This world seems almost dull, complete but far from perfect. He’s peppered with kisses and hugs from friends and family, all the while gripping Bill’s hand in silent shock. No one questions why there’s another teen, at least not right away. The shock wears off within half an hour, and Dipper is hugging Mabel the tightest of all. Bill stands to the side and watches in silence, only glancing to his empty hand once.

The seventh time they hold hands is the same day, as the stars begin to dot the sky. Bill, or William, as the rest of the world now knows him, gently slips his hand into Dipper’s squeezing lightly as the two sit on the shack’s roof. Dipper falls asleep with his head against Bill’s shoulder, hands still clasped tightly. He’s never felt more at home.

Dipper’s losing count of how often they hold hands, Bill never bothered from the start, they just do. Every time Dipper is unsure, a warm hand finds his. Nights where Bill is too frustrated with all the limitations of the corporeal world, Dipper grips his trembling digits. Mabel points it out first, their attachment, and neither denies it. Bill calls it an inevitable outcome, Dipper states it was because of necessity and understanding. Mabel drops it, Stan lets it be, Dipper’s parents are cautious, his friends poke, prod, and giggle. Ford, however, is suspicious. Bill doesn’t blame him, and Dipper loses the argument.

Bill avoids Ford. For two years, everything seems normal. For two years, everyone is content to let things be. At the end of those two years, Dipper remembers that Bill is a demon, a demon that has history with his great uncle. He grips the demon’s hand as he confesses all of the things he’d done, the acts he committed, the undeniable guilt that eats at him. The demon apologizes, begs, cries, as if Dipper is the one that needs to hear it. Dipper tries to approach Ford about it, but is turned away almost immediately, Bill refrains from the ‘I told you so’ spiel.

Bill proposes another two years later. Dipper says yes, his hand gripping Bill’s in a solid promise of devotion and understanding. The wedding goes without any disturbances, and the honeymoon takes place in a totally different dimension.

Every morning, Bill traces designs into the palm of Dipper’s hands, kissing the humble gold band circling his spouse’s ring finger. Years pass and they still hold hands. No one ever connected one William Lucid to that of Bill Cipher, and if anyone were to ask, they would answer with honesty that, no, they are not the same. The demon from then is not the demon from now, and Dipper reminds Bill every day. They are content, and in love, without the care or fear of the past. Neither would ever ask for anything different.


End file.
